Olden Day Myths in a Modern Day World
by Eighth Row Pawn
Summary: When an ex-Navy Captain comes across something at sea that's only supposed to exist in myths and fairytales, he's not sure what to think. All he knows is that he has to keep this remarkable creature safe from those who would lock him up and put him under a microscope.


The long, thin frame darted through the water and raced after a school of fish. Twisting skillfully through the water with as much grace and speed as his target, Sherlock raised back a spear and cast it forward. The spear darted through the dim water, but was quickly forgotten by Sherlock as an immense swarm of fish suddenly surrounded him and a net came up around, trapping him with the flailing bodies of the panicked schools of fish. He had only a few seconds to realize what was happening before it was all a blur of motion.

Sherlock could feel his heart pounding as his body was lifted out of the water, and the frenzied fish flailed about him, making it difficult to see or hear what was going on. The fishing net swung him high into the air, and then came back down on the deck of the boat. When the nets stopped, Sherlock was finally able to see to some extent, and saw the wide-eyed gazes of several human sailors looking at him in wonder as he peered through the nets. He had only ever heard stories about humans, but had seen very few up close, and he he held onto the net desperately, he looked at them all with a mixture of fear and wonder.

"Captain Watson!" called one of the men, and from in the back of the crowd a sturdy built man stepped forward and stared in amazed awe at the creature in the net. John Watson was a Navy Captain, and he'd done this for most of his life, sailing. This time, however, he'd been asked by a friend to tag along on his skipper, and he didn't mind at all. It gave him something to do. In all his time on the sea, however, he had never seen anything like this. They lowered the net until it spilled its catch, and Sherlock fought with the nets a moment before finally getting free of them. He managed to sit up, but with the slippery fish and his disoriented sense of direction, Sherlock made no attempt to drag the dead weight that would be his tail on a dry surface.

"Don't touch him," John said sternly as the sailors gathered around, staring at Sherlock with curiosity. He had a dark tail with an iridescent quality that made it almost seem to shimmer in different colours when it moved in the sunlight, and his skin was pale with webbing between his fingers to aid in swimming. A set of gills along his rib cage were obviously for underwater breathing, but most were closed and hinted that he also has a pair of lungs with which to breath air like humans.

His tail was easily as long as a grown man and strong enough to send one flying, it made movement through water easy, but near impossible on land. So instead he glared out at the men as warily as they studied him. Dark curls fell into his eyes, but he didn't dare move. He looked relatively human, though he appeared a little taller and thinner than most. He spent much of his time twisting and turning through the water after prey in the depths of the ocean, and his body was designed to do so. Sharp canines were evident when he opened his mouth, and as one of the men tried to approach, Sherlock bared them threateningly.

"We could get a pretty penny for him with the scientists on shore," one of the sailors stated quietly, and Sherlock keen hearing startled the men as his gaze shot in his direction suspiciously. John frowned heavily with disapproval and shook his head. "You should know better than to anger the sea. Toss him back," he said, taking a step back. John was a highly superstitious sailor, and most of his company thought he was silly for it. But he held onto his beliefs, and he didn't fancy taking this creature from its home and suffering the wrath of the ocean for it.

He struggled to understand what the humans were talking about. His vocal chords, though designed to communicate easily underwater, with aquatic animals, he could also speak English. For now, though, he said nothing. His people had no scientists, however, and no word for them. The strange term sent a thrill of unease, and he shifted his tail closer to him, wrapping the thick muscle around his body as he hissed threateningly at the men approaching.

He wasn't a savage, by any means, and while his species did have their own form of civilization, it differed from the safer lives that humans experienced on land. The sea was full of endless dangers, and Sherlock had little trust for things he didn't understand. The sailors backed away quicker than they had moved forward, and John rolled his eyes and sighed with displeasure. "Right good bunch of men you've got here, Mike!" John called out to his friend as he moved forward and crouched down by the aquatic humanoid and looked him over slowly.

"You might not understand me, but you've got to go, okay?" he said, pointing out towards the ocean, trying to make the stressed creature understand. The men were beginning to bicker back and forth about whether or not to just keep Sherlock. Sherlock's attention, however, was on John, and though he understood the words, he frowned in confusion at John's actions versus the rest of the crew.

The merfolk, as the humans called them, had no knowledge of the legends they inspired, though they had stories of their own in the same regard. Sherlock looked out towards the sea, looking around to fully gather the situation. He'd never been on a boat before, and it was an entirely new experience. A strange curiosity had him hesitating. One of the crew members, however, seemed to have decided to make matters into his own hands and dropped a loop of rope around Sherlock, startling him and causing him to swing his tail out in defense, striking back a couple of unfortunate crew members who happened to be within distance.

In the process, he knocked over a jar of hooks, and several of the sharp implements snared into his tail, making him give a sharp cry of pain and fall off the platform that the net rested on, coming to land on the floor of the deck with a pained grunt, groaning as the air was sharply knocked from his lungs.


End file.
